


Through the shoulders, through the stomach

by dmajor7th



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Concubinage, Gen, History, Lightning Generation, long timeframe, theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 16:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15561486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dmajor7th/pseuds/dmajor7th
Summary: Republic City runs on a power that was once only seen in the Fire Nation Royal Palace.





	Through the shoulders, through the stomach

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been curious as to how lightning generation, seemingly the sole preserve of the Fire Nation Royal Family, ended up being something a large swathe of Republic City denizens could do.
> 
> Also, the practice of Chinese and Korean royals having large harems was [pretty standard before the 20th century](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Concubinage#In_Asia), so I figured it would be no different for the Fire Nation.

* * *

 

**103AG**

It is not the thought of another manicured hand running along the knotted ridges of his right cheek that stings. A concubine’s body, after all, serves no higher purpose than a bouquet of flowers --- something to decorate the room, perhaps briefly excite the senses before wilting away, ready to throw out.  
  
Nor is she bothered by thoughts of Zuko’s choked scream over another woman’s body --- the one he always makes before collapsing  into an interminable stretch of hollow, fitful sleep.

It’s the fact that he talks to them, divulges worries and sorrows into their ears, lets them peek into a window that he draws the blinds tightly shut for her, despite everything she has done for him (is willing to do for him).  
  
But the Firelady’s feelings has never held a place in the Firelord’s chambers. The divine right of the Firelord to a harem remains as unchangeable as the passing of time.  
  
The stiletto she presses her palm against doesn’t puncture the skin, for she has absolute control over her movements.

****  
  
**104AG**  
  
The Republic City Free Hospital is still embraced in a cage of scaffolding, long bamboo poles holding high the canopy that stands over the grand entrance.

Despite the paint having not yet dried it is open for business; the healers are running everyway and headless, order having not yet found a way to settle down in the city that hadn’t finished building it’s roads.  
  
Still, Himari is grateful not to have given birth on the boat.  
  
Her daughter’s golden eyes have the same soft glint as the Firelord’s. A thrum of something not quite guilt slides along Himari’s heart --- little Itzuko will never get to feed the turtleducks in the Royal Fountain. She will never know her father.  
  
But making her life her own --- never such a thought could have been had if she’d had stayed in the gilded cage of the royal palace. The Firelord’s heirs will never know the feeling of true freedom, but Itzuko will know nothing else.  
  
The cot creeks under her --- _their_ \--- weight. The sound is piercing ---  Itzuko greets the world.

****

  **145 AG**  
  
“Table _five_ , Naoki, for goodness sake!”.  
  
A sweaty thread of hair falls into Itzuko’s eyes as the sauce of the komodochicken noodles she ladles into the bowl spills over. 

 _This is for table three_ Naoki doesn’t say. There is no point in correcting her mother. There never has been.  
  
Naoki wordlessly wipes the bowl clean with the cloth she keeps in her apron. School was no less exhausting today than it was yesterday, and her exams sit on her shoulder like a ravencat, whispering fables of failure, promises of defeat. She keeps her own gaze low as her mother’s golden eyes bore into her crown.  
  
“And what have I told you about using the table cleaning cloths to wipe the dishes?” Itzuko huffs, loading up the tray. It once would have been heavier than she would have been able to carry, but she is so much stronger now. A deep-sea memory begins to surface as she hefts the tray off the counter.  
  
_“Your life is yours to choose, my love” Itsuko strokes the soft silk of Naoki’s hair as Naoki buries her face in her mother’s shoulder. “Anything you wish to do, I will support you. Never will you have to tie yourself to a man, to a country, to anyone but yourself, any dream other than your own. I was free to choose my path and the best gift I can give you is for you to have the same._ ”  
  
“My dear.” The elderly patron touches her hand, calls her attention. Naoki doesn’t flinch. “A tad warmer, if you will? There’s a good girl.”  
  
Naoki  smiles wordlessly, takes the bowl in her hands and pulls out the party trick. The customers awe in delight as steam rises from the soup.  
  
She decides then and there that she will marry well.  
  
****

**159AG**

San all but shouts from the rooftop; Naoki says it with a smile.  
  
Mako is not even seven when the first spark whips from his fingertips, hummingbird-mouse fast. Not orange and warming like a bath (he is used to that), but a pale ice-blue and tight like a wire wrapped around his fingers.

Bolin hides behind the drape of the tablecloth, nervous at first of Mako’s furrowed brow as he tries to make sense of it. But when he feels the warm, heavy pat of his mother's hand against his crown, sees the rare smile brace Mako’s face as father says _do that again, son_ , Bolin let's out a gleeful gurgle.  
  
Mako breaths in, focused, calm. He feels the pull up from his stomach into his shoulders, climb round his neck and down again into his arms. It contracts and constricts and then suddenly it’s gone, a blast so strong it knocks him backwards. The bruises take three weeks to fade.  
  
Mako curls into his mother’s lap as the leaves on the cherry-apple tree smoulder. She picks up his hand, inspects each of his nails, checks he’s alright, which if course he will be.  
  
“You know what this means.” San grins, his teacup cooling in his hand. Naoki rolls her eyes; Mako frowns.  
  
“Ooo, tell me tell me tell me tell _meee_ !” Bolin bounces. In his eagerness the earth beneath him yields, and he slips under his own unmastered terraforming. San takes him into his lap before the tears spill over.  
  
“An old wives’ tale.” Naoki proclaims, stroking Mako’s back as he drifts away from wakefulness. San smiles down at Bolin, picks up where Naoki leaves off.  
  
“It’s said that all those who can bend lightning are descended from the Fire Nation royal family.” He tells his son.  
  
“Woaaaah.” Bolin’s wide eyes gaze back. “We’re _royalty_ ?”  
  
“Enough now. Don’t give them ideas.”  
  
“Don’t think that the old Firelord will have relied on his wife to keep him warm in those giant stone chambers.” San grins, and he knows he has done wrong when the gentle cloud of his wife’s temper brews into a dark thundercloud.  
  
“Not in front of the boys.” She says, words biting with sharp teeth.  
  
In his haze of wakefulness Mako doesn’t quite hear, but dreams of a warm summer’s day feeding turtleducks far away.


End file.
